Shattered
by A Madder Sky
Summary: "A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist." A series of oneshots. Rated T for character death. Various pairings.
1. Brother

_Disclaimer: Code Geass is not mine, in any way, shape or form! (Even if I wish it was)_

_Um, yeah. Allora Gale's Dauntless really super inspired this one. I know it's kind of unoriginal, but... yeah I have no defence. It's kind of like fanfiction of fanfiction? It's just up here 'cause it was floating around. If that bothers you, go to the second one. It's totally and completely out of my head (Other than the fact that it's, well, CG)_

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><p><em>"Never, <em>ever_, call this number, unless it's absolutely necessary. Promise me Kallen. Please?"_ She'd rolled her eyes and grumbled in annoyance but smiled and promised she wouldn't. He'd heaved a sigh of relief. _"Good. Just stick with my regular cell phone. I'll call you tomorrow, like always, 'kay? I love you." _That had been three days ago. She hadn't heard from Naoto since then, not even one of his tense, 'I'm-Alive-then-click' calls that came when he should have been on radio silence. Nothing. Was this an emergency? Yes, yes it was. She picked up her phone and dialed the forbidden number. He didn't answer. That was when she knew something was terribly wrong. Because, no matter what, Naoto always answered this phone. Always. She ran through her contacts list frantically. Tanaka, no answer. Saito, no answer. Uchida, no answer. Takata, no answer. Fujimoto, no answer. Ohgi...

_"Kallen...?"_

"Ohgi? Have you heard from Naoto?"

_"Um... Not since yesterday. We're supposed to be lying low, emergency calls_ _only._ _Why?"_ He was warily curious, and she could picture his suspicious frown in her mind's eye.

"He's not answering his phone." A beat of silence. Finally, Ohgi's voice, tense.

_"I'll be there in five minutes."_

True to his word, Ohgi was there, in a beat-up silver car that looked completely out of place in front of the massive Stadtfeld estate. Kallen rushed over the pristinely manicured lawn, dotted with topiary bushes, ignoring her stepmother's indignant cries ("_Stop! Where are you going, miserable girl? If your father was home_-!"), and slid into the backseat as Ohgi took off. They quickly left the Britannian settlement, trading the smooth asphalt for pockmarked concrete, still scarred from the war six years before.

"Naoto had said that he was going to be briefing his team at the warehouse this morning, just after the forty-eight hours of radio silence was over. After that, all the teams were supposed to move into position. He was supposed to check in at exactly 10:00." Kallen glanced at her watch. It was 10:02. "All we got was static. I told Tamaki and Kenji to put their teams on hold." She squirmed in the backseat of the car as Ohgi explained, chewing her nails and darting glances out the tinted windows in agitation. After an excruciating hour of waiting (her watch told her it had actually only been ten minutes, but still) the familiar shape of the warehouse loomed into view. It had been a storage building for a Japanese construction company, before. Before the war, before the Britannians came, back when being Japanese was still considered being a person. Now, the warehouse looked like the rest of the ghettos: fragile from the incessant bombings and covered in bullet holes.

Ohgi, always cautious, parked a few warehouses down. Kallen didn't care about cautious right now. Before the car had fully ground to a halt, she had thrown her door open and was running. She ignored Ohgi's distressed calls ("_Kallen! Stop! Be careful, you don't know who's out there!_"), instead throwing all the weight her sixteen-year-old frame could muster into opening the metal door. "Naoto, are you there? Naoto!" Screw the police, screw the army, screw her safety. All that mattered was... "_Nao_-" The door swung open, protesting with a groan. She froze. The previously damaged walls had been nearly shredded with heavy gunfire, and the stagnant air was heavy with the rusty smells of blood and gunpowder. Bodies littered the ground. The gloom made it impossible to see faces, but the number of blue soldier's uniforms was small, far, far too small in comparison to the blood-soaked jeans and t-shirts. Kallen did a cursory scan through watery eyes, but she couldn't see Naoto's telltale fiery hair. Maybe, just maybe, he'd gotten out...?

When she blinked the tears out of her eyes though, she spotted a flash of red. Not the brownish red of dried blood, but the vibrant colour she encountered every time she looked in a mirror. _No. No, no, no, oh God no!_ She choked out a cry and slipped out of Ohgi's protective embrace (When had he gotten there? She hadn't even noticed. She couldn't bring herself to care), falling to her knees beside the still form. It just... it wasn't possible. This man... he just looked like Naoto. Those sightless eyes just happened to be the same cerulean, mirroring the sky. It was just some sick twist of fate that he was wearing the jacket, no, a jacket similar to the one's she'd gotten Naoto for his birthday. It was only a coincidence that his nose had the same crookedness from the time she'd broken his - _No, Naoto's, damn it_ - nose. She knew it wasn't true, that she was deluding herself, but her heart couldn't reconcile Naoto - laughing, breathing, _living_ Naoto - with this sprawled, unmoving, dead _thing_. Because Naoto _wasn't_ dead. Because if Naoto was _dead_, what would she do? What _could_ she do? How was she supposed to cope with the loss if her light, her beloved big brother, was gone?

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><p>She didn't know how much time had passed since she'd flung herself, sobbing, atop the cold shell of her brother. In the distance, a police siren wailed. Instantly, Ohgi had a vice grip on her arm and was trying to drag her back to the car. "No!" She shrieked, struggling in his iron grip. "Let me go! I won't leave him!" His reasoning fell on deaf ears. The police were coming? So? Naoto was <em>dead<em>. What did it matter if she was arrested? What did anything matter anymore? She clung to the pale body, refusing to let go. But she was sixteen, and Ohgi was a grown man and eventually he got her into the car and they were racing away. Away from the center of her world.

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><p>There was no funeral. All Naoto got was the anchorwoman of the nightly news stating that a group of terrorists had been apprehended and executed earlier that day. Terrorists? They'd never hurt anybody. No civilians were killed during their clashes with the police and the army. No one would remember the kind, gentle big brother he'd been. To all the Britannians out there, he'd been some stupid Eleven who'd "Spurned the compassion of our glorious empire". Disgusting.<p>

She had refused to return to the Stadfeld estate. It wasn't home, even if she'd lived there. Home was Naoto's dingy little apartment in the ghetto. She rifled through his closet, searching for something… anything. She wanted something to remember him by, something she could wear in his honour. She refused to touch the jackets, superimposed with the bloodstains she'd never forget. Ditto for the t-shirts and jeans. She glared at the small closet in frustration. She wanted something to remember her brother, not the corpse.

Her eyes landed on a cardboard box, buried under a mound of sneakers and flip-flops. Her eyes lit up as she opened it. The box was full of red headbands. All of the original resistance members had one. She reached out and grabbed a handful, smiling at the silky feeling of them. Her hand brushed something hat wasn't nylon. She wrapped her hand around a soft package. It crinkled. Paper? Pulling it out, she saw that it was a small bundle covered in old newspaper. She nearly dropped it when she turned it over. There, in Naoto's familiar script: "Happy birthday, Kallen".

With shaking hands, she ripped the newspaper bundle open. A red headband tumbled out. She started at it, wide-eyed. Naoto had been about to let her join the resistance? He'd always argued with her about it. He wasn't… he wasn't there anymore to tell her it was too dangerous. To say that she had a chance at a normal life with the Stadtfelds. Had he finally caved to her constant pleas? He'd finally recognized her as Kallen _Kozuki_.

The thought set her tears off again.

Before, her hatred against Britannia had been a passive thing; something that she would act on, but later. When Naoto let her join. But now, now she had a reason to fight. Japan had meant everything to Naoto. She would fight for her country, for her people, and most of all… for him.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, I realize now that Naoto's hair was more of a copper-brown thing. Um… calling in my creative license here? Anyways, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so please review!**


	2. Protector

_Disclaimer: Code Geass is not mine! Everything belongs to whoever made it…_

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><p>"Xing-ke!" She was running towards him, skirts bunched in one hand and hair streaming out behind her in a wave of silver. "Wait!" He kept walking. "Xing-<em>ke<em>!" She sounded close to tears. His steps faltered. "Xing-ke, _please_." It was the please that did it. He pivoted sharply on his heel to face her and she crashed into him, running at full tilt. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, steadying her child-like frame. Realizing his position, he released her as if burned and took a hasty step back.

"Was there anything you needed, my Lady?" His tone was cool, polite, and her eyes were red, accusing, staring out at him from her pale face.

"You're not going out there?" It was more an order than a question, but he took it as the latter, and his silence told her all she needed to know. "No. No, no, _no_, you can't! Not now! It's a bloodbath." Well, bloodbath was an accurate description. The enemy forces were decimating their own, and he knew his troops wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"My Lady, my men need me." She eyed him reproachfully from under frost-coloured brows, her upper lip trembling.

"But…" She trailed off. _But _I_ need you_. Her plea remained unspoken, written across her face for him to see, if he would only look. And he did look. Regret, sorrow, and even a flash of uncertainty mingled on his face for a split second before he pulled up his emotional walls once more. But he needed to do this. Kneeling, so that his face was level with her own, he enveloped her delicate, porcelain hands in his rough, calloused palms, scarred from year after year of war.

"I…" He looked up, and briefly, their eyes met, scarlet and burgundy clashing. That fleeting glance connected them, communicating to so effectively what they couldn't bring themselves to say out loud: _I love you_.

But the moment passed, and the intense feeling of connection dissipated. He surrendered her hands and stood, turning away. Straightening his back, he continued down his original path with long, determined strides.

"Xing-ke!" He could tell without turning that the dam had broken and her eyes were flooded with tears. This time, his resolve was sure, his footsteps steady. She didn't follow. "Why?" Her voice was so low it was nearly inaudible, and he knew she didn't mean for him to hear it. It was broken, and so full of pain that it wrenched at his heartstrings. "Why do people always have to fight?" His footsteps, echoing in the empty corridor, lead him out into the bright sunlight.

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><p>He quickly fell into the battle's rhythm, the driving heartbeat of war. <em>Slash, block, dodge, kick, turn, and slash again.<em> His appearance had rallied the battered soldiers, and he led the charge with renewed energy. _Hack, parry, shield._ Normally, fighting took all of his concentration. _Turn, dodge, stab, red eyes… _Today, her words plagued him. Why _did _people always have to fight? What good did it do?

He didn't know. He'd never thought about it before. He was a soldier, and he followed his orders. But… these were people he was killing. Every man he cut down was someone's brother, someone's father, someone's husband, someone's friend. So why? He hadn't attacked them. They were the ones who had come to his country, pillaging, burning, subjugating, taking _everything_. But these faceless soldiers were here because they'd been ordered to, just like he was. They were here because if he fought back, it was _their_ families in danger.

He had his answer.

She'd asked the question, not truly expecting a reply, but now he had one. _I fight…_ The warriors were weary, the defences falling. The battle was nearly lost. There was only one course left open to him, and he had to take it. She would mourn him, he knew, but time would heal her wounds. She would move on, grow up, have a family, and rule her country in the peace that would be his gift to her. _I fight… because I have something that I must protect. _And that was why, in those final seconds, he was able to walk down his chosen path without regrets.

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><p><strong>AN: AU, obviously, in the fact that Xing-ke doesn't actually die in **_**that**_** battle. Or his plan could have been stopped by Lelouch firing the first Fleija, if his dying bothers you. And I've actually no idea what his plan would have been, I just needed a way for him to die. Yeah, I'm sick.**

**I decided to continue this…ish, because my muse sparked up again in the Code Geass fandom. It will be updated really irregularly, basically whenever I feel like writing something. I'll try my best if anyone has any requests. Please, please, please, review? Just so I know that I'm not writing to air here…**


	3. Mother

_Disclaimer: Code Geass isn't mine, blah, blah, as much as I wish it was._

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><p>Lelouch vi Britannia was not having a good day. Granted, he doubted his maid was either. First, the daily fight to wrestle him out of bed at a decent hour. Or his mother's idea of a decent hour, which meant eight. Next... alright, maybe his day hadn't been quite as horrible as he was making it out to be, if only because he'd been up and out of bed for a grand total of an hour.<p>

He sighed again, tugging at the pristine cuffs of his freshly pressed suit; Mother didn't let him wear casual clothes around the Villa. He never left the Villa, and thus, was never to be found in anything less formal that slacks and a suitjacket. He was trailing a few feet behind Nunnally, who was holding Mother's hand and chattering happily up at her about her about her plans for the day. Marianne smiled indulgently down at her daughter, nodding in agreement.

Yes, it would be a _wonderful_ idea to get Lelouch to play dress-up with her. No, catching a frog in the pond was _not_ a good idea, but would she like to borrow a net from the gardener's hut anyways? Yes, she could go play in the garden. No, she couldn't go visit Euphy today, but maybe tomorrow. Of course, Mommy would be delighted to play dolls with Nunna, after tea with Lady eu Britannia, alright?

Mother and Nunnally were descending the steps now, hands still clasped. Two hulking bodyguards, constant shadows, followed a few steps behind. Lelouch loitered at the top of the magnificent staircase. He didn't want to go to breakfast - he'd much rather go into the library and read. Preferably something on chess strategies. Schneizel had promised him a rematch this afternoon. Lelouch knew that he'd lose, obviously. But he still wouldn't give up those chess matches for anything. Schneizel was the only one who treated him like he was an adult. Which he was. He was ten years old, after all.

"Lelouch." He turned at the sound of his name. Mother had stopped and was turning to look at him, a soft smile playing across her face. "Come and have breakfast. The chessboard will still be there after." His mother's voice was half amused and half reproachful, as if she could sense his thoughts. Nunnally peeked around her mother's amber skirts, eyes wide and pleading. He grumbled in annoyance as she giggled, but he couldn't refuse, especially not Nunnally's hopeful face. He started down the stairs.

Then the windows exploded inwards, and his world shattered with them.

The gunfire was deafening.

The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky.

The sharp tang of gunpowder drifted through the broken windows, carried on a breeze that smelt of tulips and cherry blossoms.

He was frozen on the top step, unable to tear his eyes off the sight in front of him.

Marianne the flash was huddled over the shaking form of his little sister. Nunally's beautiful lilac eyes were wide and terrified. Her legs were twitching uselessly, ridden with bullet holes. Mother wasn't moving, her violet eyes staring blankly off into the distance, shadowed by a curtain of glossy black hair. There was no life left in them.

Their blood was pooling on the marble underneath them.

He screamed.

Out in the garden, the birds were singing.

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><p><em>AN: Er... depressing as usual. Not much to say about it. Please review!_


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